


Russian Roulette

by Johncowdrey



Category: spies & secret agents - Fandom
Genre: F/M, col. saunders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:33:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29465061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johncowdrey/pseuds/Johncowdrey
Summary: Morse and Joan adventure with Joans boyfriend jonathona cold war story with the background of the biafran civil war and the K.G.B.diamond smuggling, fraud and murdermainly set in w. africa
Relationships: Endeavour Morse/Joan Thursday
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

Russian Roulette  
Chapter 1  
Enugu province: Biafra (S.W. Nigeria)  
Late July 1968  
The old Dakota transport plane had somehow managed to dodge the jets  
of the Nigerian Air Force, that buzzed over the dense Biafran jungle like  
swarms of angry hornets.  
The 6 passengers in the plane were all, according to the aircrafts manifest,  
volunteers, medics of some kind and ostensibly members of the Red  
Cross, who had no interest in the rights and wrongs of Major General  
Ojukwo’s newly independent, oil rich, and battered Republic of Biafra.  
There was one woman on board, Staff Nurse Monica Hicks formerly of  
Cowley General Hospital, and sometime girlfriend of Detective Sergeant  
Endeavour Morse.  
The only other person of interest was Dr Jonathon Keyes, Cardiologist and  
Joan Thursday’s absent Fiancé.  
Mercifully someone on the ground had remembered to switch on the  
landing lights, and so Jonathon and his fellow mercenaries (as the other  
side liked to call them), had a relatively safe landing, and were soon  
jumping down from the aircraft’s escape hatch (with as far as they could tell  
everything intact), quickly picking up their back packs and various pieces  
of equipment, that had been thrown out of the Dakota by the aircrew, they  
hurried towards two beaten up land rovers from the Nigerian Red Cross,  
both of which were prominently displaying the Red Cross logo, and waiting  
in a nearby clearing.  
The drivers were all proudly wearing Red Cross armbands, and  
nonchalantly smoking and chatting in a local dialect while they waited for  
their 6 passengers to reach them. The volunteers were less than 50 yards  
away, when 2 R.P.G missiles streaked across the cloudless night sky from  
the east and slammed into the vehicles with an almighty whump, and the  
hapless drivers were thrown far into the Biafran bush by the blast, while the  
flames lit up the night sky.  
The blast had knocked Jonathon and his comrades senseless for a  
moment or two, and when he came to, he felt the cold steel of an Uzi sub  
machine pistol barrel being thrust harshly into the nape his neck.  
Oxford, England: 4 months later  
Early November 1968  
Morse couldn’t believe it. It had to happen tonight of all nights, the rubbish  
plumbing of the people in the upstairs flat had burst, while he was at work.  
When he got home the worst was over. The Fire Brigade had turned the  
water off, and he, Morse was left to deal with the widespread disaster of  
plaster, dust, wattle and daub, and a small lake of smelly, filthy dirty water,  
which was constantly being added to by the water dripping from the ceiling.  
This manmade lake now covered his bedroom, kitchen and most of his  
lounge.  
He had made every preparation for his attempt at seducing Joan, even  
though he was not at all happy about having his arm twisted, and if the  
truth was told not very optimistic of success. Romantic popular music (of  
the kind Joan would like), a couple of bottles of Joan’s favourite wine, and a  
bottle of Brut aftershave that she found sexy, but that he personally couldn’t  
stand.  
He had even hired the lady next door to give his flat a top to bottom going  
over, making sure she changed his old bed linen for the black silky set he  
had bought specially for tonight. He had laid the ground work last week,  
when Joan had opened up her heart to him about her newish boyfriend  
Jonathon, and when he had made his feelings for her plain, she had sort of  
agreed to think about what he had said. He was being sincere with her  
which is more than could be said about that bastard Keyes.  
Morse could be a bit mean spirited sometimes, it went with the job, but poor  
Joan’s deception by her “Peter Perfect” boyfriend with movie star looks  
just rankled, and brought out the worst in him, as he realised that sticking it  
to Jonathon would give him almost as much pleasure as bedding the  
delectable Miss Thursday.  
Looking around the chaos that was now his flat, he thought the only thing  
for it was to phone Joan up and cancel, but she wouldn’t hear of it, she  
insisted he came over to her place, as both her flatmates were out for the  
evening, so they could discuss something in private.  
Morse was in the middle of an abstruse case, which began with a television  
game show, a branch of M.I.5, a former professor of his, the local  
newsagent and a world famous per fumier,” but could anything really  
match the enigma that was Joan Thursday” he thought as he made his way  
to her flat to keep the date they had just arranged. “Perhaps that’s the  
eternal attraction she has for me, has Joan bewitched me? Will I ever be  
able to find love because of the hold she has over me?”  
Morse decided it was time to stop feeling sorry for himself and to put self  
doubts away, and find out why Miss Thursday was so anxious to see him  
tonight.  
Morse climbed the three steps leading up to Joan’s front door, but before  
he could ring the doorbell; a very pretty girl came out and gave him a big  
smile and said  
“How are you Morse”, before going on her way. It was Helen, the student  
flatmate of Joan, who worked in a local pub to supplement her grant.  
A minute or two after ringing the bell, Joan came to the door in a towelling  
robe, and she was rubbing her long hair with a towel, after obviously having  
a bath.  
“You’d better come in Morse; there is something I want you to see, “she  
says with a worried look on her face.  
As Morse sat down on the comfortable sofa in the lounge, he was hoping to  
be offered a drink, but Joan was far too busy looking for something in her  
bedroom to worry about the niceties of hospitality.  
Finally, Joan had found what she was looking for, and proffered an official  
looking envelope over to Morse for his inspection.  
“Right I am going to get dressed while you read this” Joan  
said somewhat bossily.  
Ten minutes later she emerged from her bedroom in Levis,  
a white blouse and white plimsolls.  
“What do you think it’s about Morse, it came first post this morning.”  
Morse read it again;  
The headed paper was from a dept. within the Board of Trade.  
It read;  
Dear Miss Thursday,  
We wish to speak to you on a matter of National and Personal  
importance. Please telephone ................. and ask for ext. ........  
to make an appointment. Your discretion is of the utmost importance.  
It was signed by his new/old boss Colonel Saunders  
London, Whitehall S.W.I  
Late October 1968: 2 weeks ago  
As Morse sat outside the nondescript office of his former Commanding  
Officer Colonel Saunders, he wondered not for the first time, what the hell  
was he doing here?  
The Colonel was a sort of mentor of his (similar to D.C.I. Thursday) from  
back in the days of his National Service with the Royal Signals. The phone  
call he got from the Colonel was not a request, and so here he was. From  
what Morse knew of the now shadowy Colonel, its best not to mess with  
him, just go with the flow.  
“Come in Morse, and take a seat.”  
“First things first, I need you to sign this, here and here and  
date it on the dotted line.”  
Morse read the orange form very carefully, it was a copy of The Official  
Secrets Act. Knowing better than to refuse, he duly signed and dated  
where asked. After putting the form in a file, the Colonel goes on  
“Of course, this is a mere formality, if you disclose to a third party what we  
are to discuss, the penalty would be extreme”  
“You mean I would be shot.”  
“Quite so Morse”  
The Colonel opened a plain manila file he had just taken from the wall safe,  
and took out three colour photos, which had obviously been taken without  
the subject’s knowledge or permission.  
“Is this person known to you?”  
“Of course, it’s Joan Thursday, my boss’s daughter”  
“What about this one?”  
“Yes, its Claudine Duval, she’s my girlfriend, we were planning on getting  
engaged shortly.”  
“Don’t! Get rid of her, we know her better as Major Irina Boursin, a K.G. B.  
operative with their Illegal’s dept. It is her Job to snare you into marriage,  
and turn you, in time, into a Soviet double agent. The Russian security  
services are well aware of your talents, and that a dept. of M.I.5. are  
interested in recruiting you.”  
Morse was stunned by his words, but continued,  
“In other words, she’s part of a honey trap”  
“I could not have put it better myself, Morse.”  
Colonel Saunders then passed across the final photo of a very handsome  
man, in his late twenties with blue eyes and blonde hair, cut short.  
“I haven’t a clue about him Colonel”  
“Well let me introduce Brigadier General Yevgeny Smirnov”  
“Is something amusing you Morse?”  
“No sir, just a tickle in the back of my throat.”  
The Colonel passes across a carafe of water and a tumbler, and then  
carried on with his description.  
“He is by far the youngest General in the K.G.B, and the only holder  
of the Order of the Red Banner under fifty years of age. It was awarded to  
him personally by Leonid Brezhnev. He is a man of mystery; we know next  
to nothing about him, apart from the fact he is a qualified Doctor, and has a  
number of aliases. Miss Thursday would have known him as Doctor  
Jonathon Keyes, a Cardiologist at Guys Hospital London.  
Everything else he told her would probably be a pack of lies, I can’t over  
state how dangerous this man is, and he would not hesitate to eliminate  
Miss Thursday, should the need arise.”  
He has two missions at present, setting up a spy cell with the help of  
Boursin, to probably replace an existing one that is past it’s sell by date,  
and by recruiting Joan Thursday and yourself as operatives, by whatever  
means it takes. Secondly causing trouble in Biafra, that’s where he is now.  
Again, we know nothing of his aims there.”  
“Why would he be interested in Joan?”  
“Who knows? but probably because of her very public left-wing views, her  
respectable background, and he would believe she is a vulnerable  
personality, compliant after her experiences during the Wessex Bank raid,  
the treatment she received from Morton, her abusive boyfriend, and of  
course her miscarriage last year.”  
(Morse is amazed that he knows so much about Joan’s private life, and  
wonders what he knows about his).  
“He will obviously begin by grooming her for greater things when he  
believes he has her under his control, perhaps a career in politics or the  
civil service. Keyes is also heterosexual, and she is very attractive.”  
“I see that makes sense but what do you want me for?”  
“Primarily to keep an eye on Miss Thursday, we need to know whether  
Keyes has turned her yet, we know they were lovers until he left for Biafra,  
and she considers they are engaged. Has he been in touch with her since?  
Has he come back to the U.K? She might know, but we’re not sure, putting  
it bluntly Morse we need you to become her new lover, so she tells you  
everything we need to know; pillow talk I think is the phrase”  
“You mean seduction, don’t you? I think she has been let down enough”  
Saunders shrugs his shoulders and says  
“You can always ask her to marry you, I can think of many worse fates”  
he says flippantly while looking admiringly at her photo.  
“And if I refuse to do what you ask?” Morse says stubbornly.  
“Don’t refuse......for both your sakes”  
Enugu province: Biafra (S.W.Nigeria)  
Late July 1968  
“O.k. white boy you can get up now, the fireworks are over,”  
Jonathon can feel the muzzle of the gun being removed from his neck, and  
he gets a kick from a hobnail boot to his arse to encourage him to get a  
move on.  
An Officer appears at the scene, and after inspecting his prisoners,  
demands at the top of his voice,  
“We need to see your papers, are any of you British Special Forces”  
the officer in charge says in perfect English.  
A minute or two later he begins to get impatient, and without warning he  
pulls a Russian Tokarev pistol from its holster, and shoots the nearest man  
to him in the back of his head, blowing his brains out, and even shocking  
his own men.  
“Unless you step forward now, every white man here will have his fucking  
head blown off, and maybe this black bitch too.....after I have finished with  
her of course “as he leers at Staff Nurse Hicks .  
Three covert members of the S.A.S., raise their hands, and are  
immediately set upon by Biafran soldiers, who beat them mercilessly before  
they are dragged away to be interrogated or tortured or both.  
The Biafran Major steps forward towards Jonathon, he bows his head, and  
then he salutes saying,  
“Brigadier General, I am honoured, welcome to The Republic of Biafra”  
Jonathon returned the salute and said,  
“Thank you for the “warm” welcome and disposing of our “excess baggage”  
nodding towards the dead man who was missing most of his skull.  
“I would like to introduce my personal bodyguard, Comrade  
Sergeant Petrushka Borzoi” Jonathon says while gesturing towards Staff  
Nurse Monica Hicks, who comes to attention and smartly salutes  
the Biafran Major.  
To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

Cafe-au-Late2  
chapter 2Early November 1968  
Joan Thursday’s flat  
Oxford  
Morse was a bit lost for words, while the letter didn’t reveal much, it spoke  
volumes to Morse. Any request by the sinister Colonel Saunders was  
anything but good news for anybody.  
“You say the letter arrived this morning, why didn’t you phone him to find  
out what he wanted?”  
“I was late for the Advice Centre, so I just stuffed it in my pocket, and read  
it when I got home. I had a bad feeling about it, and so I thought I would  
wait to see what you thought about it before I did anything.”  
Morse looks at his wristwatch; it was just after 8p.m.  
“Well, if it’s that important perhaps he’s still there.”  
After listening to the dialling tone for a while, Morse finally gets an answer,  
and asks the operator on the switchboard for the extension he wants, and  
he is lucky enough to get through to Colonel Saunders secretary. She  
however, insists she can only speak to Miss Thursday.  
A nervous Miss Thursday takes over the phone from Morse, and duly  
makes an appointment to see the Colonel at 2.30 p.m. tomorrow afternoon.  
After putting the phone back in the cradle Joan turns to Morse and says,  
“This is getting very fishy, how many senior civil servants work on a  
Saturday afternoon?”  
“Perhaps he needs the overtime.” Morse’s lame attempt at humour falls on  
stony ground.  
Changing the subject Joan asks,  
“I bet you haven’t had anything to eat this evening, I am going to have  
beans on toast, do you want to join me?”  
“That would be great; but I’d better be getting off home after, to make a  
start clearing up the mess that burst pipe has left me with.”  
“Don’t be silly, you’re staying here tonight, if you go home to that soaking  
wet flat you could end up with pneumonia or even worse. No, we will go to  
your place tomorrow morning, and see what needs to be done, before we  
go to London to meet this mysterious Colonel.”  
Morse perked up considerably at Joan’s offer, but she went on to say,  
“Pauline is away for the weekend, so I’ll just change the bed clothes, you’ll  
be fine in her room.”  
(The fact that Joan had assumed he would be accompanying her to  
London was not lost on him).  
While Joan went to make up his bed, Morse went to open one of the bottles  
of wine that were a part of his aborted plan for her seduction that he had in  
mind for her this evening.  
When they were settled on the sofa, with a glass of wine each, Morse  
asked Joan if she had any news about Jonathon.  
Joan pauses, and looks uncertain before confiding in him  
“Now, I know you have always thought that I can be fanciful Morse, but I  
have been trying to get in touch with his friends. You know from his  
Grammar school, University and even his previous Hospital, but it seems  
once I go back further than three years, I run into a ruddy great brick wall.  
He doesn’t seem to exist before 1965.”  
Joan pauses to have a sip of her wine,” Umm my favourite was this meant  
to be for a special occasion?”  
Morse blushes furiously, and Joan carries on  
“There is always a problem; the paperwork has been lost, or damaged in a  
fire or a flood, and sometimes the person who would know, is dead, that  
seems to happen quite a bit. He went to Lonsdale too, because he was  
only sixteen when he went up, he should have been there about the same  
time as you, can you remember anything at all about him, because if you  
remember he knew something about you and a girl called Susan.”  
Morse looks apologetic, and shakes his head, “Sorry I don’t.”  
“I was hoping to find someone who might have heard from him, his  
colleagues at Guys have not heard anything either, and I am beginning to  
doubt that letter I got from the Red Cross about his capture, I am sure he  
would have got in touch by now. One other thing, when we spent a  
weekend together in London six months ago, I found out he had a priority  
account with the Savoy Hotel, why would he want or need, or be able to  
afford something like that?”  
Apart from the obvious (which Joan wouldn’t want to hear) Morse hadn’t a  
clue.  
(Most of this conversation, thanks to Colonel Saunders, is not news to  
Morse, and after the Colonels threats, he is getting desperate to bring this  
conversation to a close,)  
“Look Joan, I think you are worrying yourself unnecessarily, when he  
shows up, and he will, I am sure he will be able to answer all your  
questions. I think it would be a good idea if we finished our wine, and went  
off to bed, we have a big day tomorrow.”  
“Thanks Morse I know I can always rely on you to make me feel better, and  
see sense,” and after a chaste kiss they wish each other goodnight.  
Morse hopes she will feel the same after speaking to the Colonel tomorrow.  
The next morning after a hearty breakfast they set off to inspect the  
damage to his flat. He is delighted that the Landlord has been so quick to  
sort this mess out. The workmen, have used a pass key, and are already  
hard at work restoring the ceiling, replacing the carpets and fixing the  
fixtures and fittings. A couple of industrial sized de-humidifiers are doing a  
great job in soaking up the widespread flood water. Also, there is a cheque  
made out to him for £100.00 to cover the cost of incidentals, such as bed  
linen, new clothes, and curtains, etc.  
Joan makes herself busy inspecting the work, and declares  
“They are doing a really good job Morse”.  
Before they leave the foreman assures Morse that the decorators will be in  
tomorrow to finish up, and he can move back in on Monday. Luckily Joan is  
quite happy to put Morse up for another couple of nights.  
What the foreman failed to tell Morse was that his gang had along with  
everything else, installed three extremely powerful, state of the art  
microphones, that were to all intents and purposes undetectable.

July 1968  
Enugu Province  
Biafra (S.W. Nigeria)  
The Biafran Major leads Jonathon, Monica, and his troops towards a dirt  
track where a green Saladin armoured car and rocket launcher is waiting  
next to a troop carrier.  
“The Journey to Enugu will take about 3 hours and can be perilous, I would  
therefore, suggest you travel in the armoured car.”  
Jonathon and Monica climb in and make themselves as comfortable as  
possible for the journey.  
“His Excellency will expect you for dinner at 8 p.m. tomorrow evening at his  
residence, which will give you a chance to rest, shower and recuperate  
after your arduous journey. You are free to go wherever you wish in the  
compound, but please don’t leave it, this is for your own safety General.”  
Jonathon and Monica give each other knowing looks.  
Shortly after setting off Monica is curled up, and fast asleep despite the  
heavily rutted track making the journey very bumpy. Jonathon is left alone  
with his thoughts.  
“If I had to say what my greatest mistake was, it was falling in love with  
Joan Thursday. My second great mistake was not killing her when I had the  
chance. She knows more about me than virtually anyone else alive,  
certainly, more than Sergeant Petrushka Borzoi. Like a fool I even took her  
to our “safe house” at the Savoy Hotel. I had such great hopes for her.”  
he muses.  
He remembered about Morse, his top target, at the time Petrushka had  
almost finished grooming him, when his damned infatuation for Joan ruined  
everything, perhaps Major Boursin would have more success, he thought  
before rolling over and going to sleep.  
It was still dark when the convoy arrived at its destination and to a still  
sleepy Jonathon and Monica the watch towers, barbed wire and sweeping  
searchlights indicated it was not meant to be a holiday camp.  
The accommodation was another matter, it was quite luxurious. There was  
however, no door handle on the inside of their apartment or prison, and so  
they were locked in.  
“So much for us being allowed to go wherever we like,”  
Jonathon said wryly to his Sergeant, who nodded in agreement.  
After having had a much-needed hot shower, they both felt ravenous, and  
so, they enjoyed an early breakfast of yoghurt, green figs, various fruits and  
strong black coffee, that was waiting for them. They said very little during  
their repast as they were certain the suite was bugged.  
The coffee was very good, and they had soon finished the pot, which was  
unfortunate as the fine coffee also contained a non-lethal dose of pheno-  
barbitone, a tasteless, fast acting and long-lasting sleeping draught  
(possibly Jonathon’s third great mistake?) They were in a deep sleep within  
minutes.  
During the time they were asleep, their clothing containing passports,  
visas, U.S. Dollars and cyanide capsules, were removed and fresh clean  
clothes were left in their place.  
The person concerned also took the opportunity to remove Jonathon’s  
stainless steel Rolex Submariner wrist watch.  
When they awoke at 6p.m. still drowsy, they immediately realised what had  
happened, but luckily, they had not thought to take his boots, which  
contained twenty five gold sovereigns in each boot heel.  
After they were both dressed for dinner, Jonathon had to admit they both  
looked rather fetching. Monica in a traditional Igbo dress that, revealed her  
ample cleavage, and was tight in all the right places, while he was wearing  
a sky blue silk suit with a mandarin collar, and ivory buttons (which were  
not so fetching).  
At precisely 7.30p.m. Two heavily armed guards arrived to escort them to  
their dinner date with Chief Odumegwu Ojukwu, Major General and head of  
the secessionist state of Biafra.  
“My dear Brigadier General, it is a privilege to welcome you and your  
beautiful companion to my humble table”  
the gallant and bearded Chief says while bowing and kissing Monica’s held  
out hand.  
“It is such a pleasure to welcome a fellow Oxford man to my country. I  
believe you were up at Lonsdale,” the Chief says in a very cultured English  
accent.  
(How the hell did he know that? Joan’s the only one I’ve ever told about  
Lonsdale) he is both puzzled and bothered by this revelation.  
“Yes, your Excellency and you were at Lincoln College and studied History  
in 1956 if my memory serves me well.”  
This obviously massaged Ojukwu’s ego and the evening passed very  
cordially, until they were having coffee.  
“I think the time is now past for pussy footing around. As you have probably  
guessed by now, your illegal arrival into Biafra was not unexpected by us,  
and your reason for coming is also well known to us General”  
Jonathon tries to explain that the aircraft was off course, and was forced to  
land by Nigerian jets.  
“I might have been prepared to accept this preposterous story if you had  
not been in the company of 4 members of the British S.A.S., and there was  
of course, a couple of Land Rovers with Nigerian Special Forces drivers  
waiting for you.”  
Ojukwu pauses to tap the ash off of his cigar, while Jonathon valiantly tries  
to maintain it was all a mistake, he had thought the vehicles were from the  
Red Cross, after all he is a Doctor.  
Monica just sits there stoically, with her arms crossed waiting to hear their  
fate.  
“I am not an unreasonable man Smirnov, and as I said I might have been  
prepared to believe you, if it had not been for this.”  
The Major General tosses across a photo- copied K.G.B personnel file,  
Jonathon’s personnel file.  
Jonathon tried not to show how aghast he was, by trying to dismiss it as a  
forgery, but he quickly realised he wasn’t fooling anybody. Damningly a  
copy of the directive to assassinate the Major General, and signed by the  
previous Chairman of the K.G.B. was there together with all of the  
operational details of this ultra secret joint operation with the British. Not  
only this, there was an encyclopaedic account of his personal and physical  
details, profiles and full-face photo’s, and graphic accounts of his love  
affairs, in which the current Chairman expressed his worry about  
Jonathon’s relationship with Joan Thursday, a suspected British Agent,  
which Jonathon thought was ridiculous.  
Jonathon realised that even if he got out of this, his old life was over, now  
that he had been completely exposed,  
Ojukwu would obviously sell the file on to the highest bidder. Leaning back  
on his chair Ojukwu exhaled a cloud of smoke and said in a good humour  
“I would say you’ve been betrayed General, wouldn’t you? But we are  
civilised, the girl will be released in good time,” he says nodding towards  
Monica.  
“And you will get a fair trial; when I return from Israel in two weeks’ time,  
brief but fair, I can promise you that. As I will be the presiding Judge, and  
then my friend you will be beheaded. I think that just about concludes our  
business for this evening.”  
And with that they courteously wish each other goodnight.  
Back in their room they are pleased to find their old battle fatigues freshly  
washed and folded, however their travel documents, currency and capsules  
of last resort are of course missing from the pile.  
They agree they must escape, because neither of them believes for an  
instant that the Sergeant will be spared by Ojukwo.  
Leaving aside for a moment the crush JoJo (their jailer) has on the  
Sergeant, he has 3-character traits that make him an ideal subject to be  
bribed.  
Firstly, he is dishonest, the expensive wristwatch, and cash he stole from  
Jonathon, he kept, instead of passing them on to his superiors, as ordered.  
Secondly, he is stupid, instead of selling the wristwatch which any  
intelligent thief would do, he made a habit of wearing it in the owner’s  
presence.  
Thirdly, he is greedy which he will shortly demonstrate.  
Monica played up to JoJo’s lust for her, and soon she had him eating out of  
her hand, and a deal was struck whereby JoJo agreed that for 6 full gold  
sovereigns (worth about £50 in 1968, an enormous amount in Biafra, where  
the currency had collapsed) he would leave their door ajar, and the door to  
the courtyard unlocked, provide a pair of bolt cutters to deal with the barbed  
wire, and a serviceable vehicle for their getaway.  
Unfortunately, he could not return their British passports, as these had  
already been sold on the thriving black market.  
“One last thing JoJo before I pay you, should you betray us I will make it  
my personal business to have you and your family killed in the most  
unpleasant way I can devise, do you understand?”  
JoJo of course vehemently protested that he would not dream of such a  
thing, and that the General could trust him with his life (Jonathon and  
Monica were not so sure.)  
TWO NIGHTS LATER:  
For a few hours before the time of their escape, they had been studying the  
sweep of the searchlights, and decided they had 12 seconds to cross the  
90 or so yards between the courtyards door and the barbed wire  
covering the courtyard’s wall.  
JoJo made a sudden appearance drunk, and belligerent, and demanding  
another 5 sovereigns before he handed over the bolt cutters and car keys.  
He had obviously been talking to someone who had convinced him he  
should be paid more.  
Jonathon nodded to Monica who promptly punched him just above the  
heart, which stopped it, and then smashed his larynx and neck vertebrae  
with another single punch, to stop him screaming.  
JoJo silently died before his body fell at Monica’s feet.  
“He’s late, I expected him before this,” Jonathon sardonically remarked.  
After slipping his wrist watch over JoJo’s grubby hand, he then took the car  
keys from his even grubbier dungarees. Luckily the vehicle’s registration  
number was written on the key ring.  
“What shall we do with the body Sir?”  
“Let’s leave it in the courtyard; hopefully it’ll create a diversion, and give us  
a bit more time to get away.”  
“He reeks of booze; hopefully they’ll think he’s just passed out.”  
Dragging JoJo the 20 yards from their room to the outside was no mean  
feat as JoJo was a big man, and his boot heels kept getting caught in the  
shabby old floor covering.  
Relieved that JoJo had left the door unlocked, they exited the building, and  
lay his body down in a prominent spot and waited out of sight for it to be  
caught in the beam of the searchlights. They didn’t have to wait long, on  
the 2nd pass the beam stopped over his body, shouting could be heard  
from the watchtower, and a soldier was starting to clamber down.  
“Let’s go” and they raced across the tarmac to the safety of the steel trellis  
frame covered in barbed wire. On the way, Jonathon twisted his left foot  
when it became caught in one of the many potholes scaring the courtyard.  
Jonathon insisted she should go on without him when she came back to  
see what was wrong. Ignoring the car keys, he was holding out for her,  
she heaved him up, and together they hobbled towards their goal. If it  
wasn’t for JoJo’s corpse they would both be dead by now, although  
neither of them gave him a second thought.  
The bolt cutters made short work of the rusty barbed wire, and with a lot of  
help from his Sergeant, Jonathon somehow made it over the top of the wall  
and down the other side.  
The old Ford Anglia they were searching for, had unsurprisingly seen better  
days. after helping her boss into the passenger side, and getting into the  
driver’s side, she asks  
“Where are we going? “  
“North, to Upper Volta” he says.  
Their departure did not go unnoticed.  
To be continued:


	3. Russian Roulette

Cafe-au-Lait2 chapter3  
The Tel Aviv Hilton:  
Early August 1968  
The question of what to do with Smirnov/Keyes, and his bodyguard had  
been bothering Ojukwu since their arrival four nights ago, because the  
Major General was first and foremost a pragmatist. He realised that giving  
him back to the Soviets would upset the British and, vice-versa, if he had  
executed them then he would have upset everybody, and so he had turned  
a blind eye to their escape attempt, so they could become someone else’s  
problem, hopefully the French in Upper Volta, whom he heartily disliked.  
The Major General received the phone call he had been waiting for at  
about 4 o’clock in the morning, from his Aide-de-Camp back in Biafra,  
advising that the escape had gone to plan, and that private JoJo Chiedozie  
had been killed in its execution as expected, which had saved him the  
trouble of arranging his demise.  
Ojukwu smiled in satisfaction at his own cleverness, and turned over and  
went back to sleep.

The London Train:  
Early November 1968  
Joan got ever more apprehensive as the train drew closer to the  
Paddington Terminus, because she believed she might be about to hear  
some bad news about Jonathon from the Colonel. Why else would he want  
to see her?  
But also, because she was sure Morse was holding out on her about  
something important, and this was feeding her fertile imagination.  
Her brief time with Jonathon had been wonderful, and not just for the  
sex, but on the other hand he had caused her so much more worry and  
heart ache than any other man she had ever known. She had not heard  
from him since he had left for that West African hell hole, only a dubious  
post card from the Red Cross advising her of his capture.  
Did he really care that he was breaking her heart? For all his faults she  
knew that Morse was a far better bet as husband material, but she also  
knew that as soon as she saw Jonathon again, she would start to go weak  
at the knees, and that just didn’t happen with Morse.  
Five or six months ago she would have married Jonathon in a heartbeat,  
but now she was not so sure. Morse was here now, when she needed him,  
as he always had been, and probably as he always would be.

London, Whitehall, S.W.I  
Joan walked straight passed the unprepossessing facade to Colonel  
Saunders Office, until Morse pulled her back. A tarnished square brass  
name plate that bore the legend;  
Col. J. Saunders C.B.E D.S. O  
BOARD OF TRADE  
Was the only clue that someone of importance may be inside.  
Joan’s Ordeal:  
Joan was trying to drink a large mug of hot sweet tea, liberally laced with  
brandy, but she was still shaking with shock after it was proved that her  
beloved fiancé, Jonathon, was not just the good Doctor she loved, and was  
so proud of, but a very, very high-ranking Officer of the Soviet espionage  
machine. What made matters worse was that Yevgeny Smirnov, to give  
him his real name, had tried to recruit her into his nest of traitors and spies,  
and she had come under even more suspicion when she innocently tried to  
match Morse with her friend Claudine who turned out to be a Major in the  
K.G.B. She was either going mad or having some insane nightmare, that  
she would hopefully soon wake up from, safe in Jonathon’s arms.  
“Leaving Smirnov aside for the moment have you any idea of the  
whereabouts of your friend Claudine Duval”  
Morse tried to intervene but was peremptorily told to shut up or leave by the  
Colonel.  
Joan confirmed what Morse had told him several weeks ago that as far as  
she knew Claudine was in South Vietnam, working as a war photographer  
and correspondent, but she had no proof of this.  
Saunders seemed satisfied by this, and was just about to go back to  
reading aloud from a statement dictated by Brigadier General Smirnov to  
the British Consul for Upper Volta.  
Morse asked if anything was known about the mysterious body guard who  
was his constant companion.  
“Only what little information we have received from M.I.6. Female,  
about 25-30, possibly of Caribbean extraction, and a trained nurse,  
but we’re not certain of any of it, really.”  
After answering Morse, Colonel Saunders continued reading from  
the statement.  
“The distance between Enugu and Ouagadougou is almost 800miles  
and so, the chances of us making it to Upper Volta in a clapped out  
Ford Anglia with a ½ tank of petrol was zero.  
We had an ancient Webley service revolver with a full chamber, that  
we had taken off JoJo’s body (our jailer), and so we decided to hi-jack  
something more serviceable. About 20 miles out of town we spotted  
a Land Rover Mk2 up ahead, parked just off the dirt road, my Sergeant  
went to investigate. Two Biafran soldiers appeared, and dragged her into  
the back of the vehicle with the intention of rape. By the time I got there  
with my gammy foot, Borzoi was searching the bodies for anything we  
could use on our journey. She found 2 loaded revolvers, some worthless  
Biafran pounds, and a couple of Nigerian chocolate bars, which tasted  
disgustingly sweet to us, but we were both very hungry, and so we  
wolfed them down with relish. Searching the vehicle proved more  
productive for us, 3x 5-gallon jerry cans of petrol, 1x 5-gallon jerry can  
of fresh water, and a comprehensive toolkit, gave us a real chance of  
making it to the border.”  
It was now 4 p.m., and Saunders called a halt to his reading, and phoned  
his secretary to order tea and biscuits, he also opened his wall safe, and  
took out a plain white envelope addressed to “Joan,” hand written with a  
fountain pen.  
Joan took the envelope with a shaking hand knowing it came from  
Jonathon. As she started to open it Saunders cut in,  
“I’d rather you didn’t open it until I’ve finished Miss Thursday”  
“You’ve read my letter haven’t you, how bloody dare you?” she  
said angrily, taking the Colonel aback.  
Morse puts a kindly hand on her shoulder and says,  
“Because that’s what people like him do Joan.”  
Joan sat there silently with her arms folded, looking daggers at the Colonel  
for the rest of the tea break.  
“I will carry on if everybody has calmed down,” he says looking pointedly at  
Joan.  
“We decided that Borzoi should pose as a Biafran soldier escorting  
me to a Red Cross hospital, and so we stripped the uniforms off of the  
soldiers she had killed, and then hid the bodies in the jungle.  
We tore some of the cloth into strips to bind my swollen ankle, and  
Borzoi changed unhappily into one of the filthy uniforms.  
We were stopped only once by a road block, they were not looking  
for trouble, and they were very drunk so we were able to go peacefully on  
our way pretty quickly.  
“A hundred miles or so from the border, there was a fork in the road.  
We had no map, and there was no sign post, and so after conferring we  
decided to toss a Biafran coin, and Ojukwu’s head came up, which  
should have been a warning to us, but we turned left anyway.  
Borzoi was getting very tired as she had been driving for more than  
10 hours, and the track was getting narrower, so we decided to turn  
back, and take the other branch after we had had a few hours’ sleep.  
We must have slept for longer than we meant to, it was now almost light,  
and we were abruptly woken by shouting and banging on the sides of our  
vehicle. Outside there was a rag-tag army of natives dressed in a motley  
collection of military uniforms, all brandishing firearms and machetes,  
demanding that we open the doors.  
There were far too many of them to risk driving through, and so there was  
no option for us but to get out, and take our chance.  
The men who had captured us had sworn allegiance to a local Warlord  
called Butalezi, who later made it clear he owed his allegiance to no one.  
Their base was centred on an abandoned Nigerian Field Hospital, which  
had obviously been left in a great hurry. We would discover later that the  
hospital was amazingly well equipped.  
Chief Butalezi soon made himself known to us. Our Land Rover, petrol and  
weapons had all been seized, and unless we could give him a good reason  
why not, we would both be shot as spies.  
I explained to him that we were not spies; we were Medics on our way to  
Upper Volta.  
“If you are who you say you are, you will be able to save the lives of my  
wife and child, if not, you shall be beheaded for lying to me.”  
“It seemed their Medicine Man could not help her, and was in a similar  
predicament to me. The Chief generously agreed that the Medicine Man  
would be let off the hook if we succeeded in saving her.  
The patient, one of the Chief’s wives was pregnant, and the child was in a  
breech position, and so I had to perform a Caesarean section to save all  
our lives, If I failed, I would end up deader than JoJo, and from the way he  
was looking at her, Petrushka would probably be the Chief’s next wife.  
It was a close call; we had to give her a blood transfusion, my group is “O”  
which usually everyone can tolerate, but it was still a risky business, and  
the 2 pints I gave her were more than I should have done.  
Well, we all survived, and I was able to present the Chief with his first son  
after 5 daughters”  
Morse looked at Joan, and he could see she was going gooey-eyed over  
her Jekyll and Hyde boyfriend, would she ever learn he thought?  
“A few days after the operation Butalezi’s wife was a lot better, and so  
they told me that Petrushka and I were the guests of honour for a big  
celebration. They also told me that because I had given my own blood to  
save her, I was going to be declared her honorary son.  
This meant I became an Honorary Chief of the tribe.  
During the feast Butalezi told me that as I was now a Chief, I could marry  
his youngest daughter Tillie who was 16 and very pretty, I was also told  
that if I refused it would be regarded as a very grave insult.  
Tillie and I were married in front of the whole tribe by the Medicine Man.  
After the ceremony we were carried on chairs to our own hut where I was  
expected to consummate our marriage, which I managed to do several  
times.  
I was later told by Petrushka that this was all about Butalezi wanting the  
status of a grandchild with blonde hair and blue eyes.”  
Morse sneaked a look at Joan who now had a face like thunder, from  
Hero to Zero he smugly thought.  
“Things went well for the next 2 weeks, I rested my foot, and enjoyed my  
first taste of domestic bliss with Tillie. We also took over the medical side of  
camp life, establishing a thriving clinic which made the Medicine Man  
redundant and very unhappy.  
I then suffered a recurrence of Malaria, but much worse than before.  
Tillie was an angel, and tended to my every need while Petrushka looked  
after the Clinic, only referring to me in an emergency.  
I decided that jungle life was not me; I was too prone to the many diseases  
and infections that were prevalent in the bush, but in the event the choice  
would all too soon be taken out of my hands.”  
Colonel Saunders asked Joan If she was ok to carry on, as she was clearly  
very distressed by these revelations. Joan replied while wiping her eyes  
with a damp hanky.

“I’m fine, let’s get it over with, but a coffee would be nice if you don’t mind,  
and Morse would you hold my hand please.”  
After a 15 minute break Saunders continued reading.  
“At the end of what I guessed was September, two important things  
happened to me, firstly Tillie told me that I was going to be a father,  
secondly the camp was overrun by the Nigerian Army, and the Red Cross,  
eager to reclaim the Hospital for its own use. The tribe’s people were all  
rounded up, and taken away in lorries to supposedly be resettled, God  
knows where. I never saw Tillie go or had a chance to rescue her. I  
managed to save Petrushka by bribing her guard with a gold sovereign,  
and then for the first time in my life I cried my eyes out, I must be going  
soft.  
I got talking to a Red Cross Driver who was going to Ouagadougou to pick  
up supplies, and he would be glad of the company.....for a price. He also  
agreed to send a card to Joan Thursday to let her know I was alive, but a  
prisoner of war of the Nigerian Army......again for a price.  
The driver gave us Red Cross caps, and armbands, Petrushka spoke some  
French, so we crossed our fingers, and hoped for the best.  
At the border post the old Bedford truck was thoroughly searched by the  
guards, who then switched their attention to us or rather Petrushka. They  
eventually got bored because they couldn’t get a reaction from her, or find  
anything to steal, so after what seemed a lifetime, we were allowed to go  
on our way.  
It was early in the evening when the driver dropped us off at the Hospital in  
Ouagadougou. Petrushka and I had to go our separate ways, we split the  
remaining sovereigns, shook hands, and saluted. I checked myself into the  
Hospital to have my ankle and malaria treated. I was a patient for about  
three weeks before I was discharged. I then made my way to the British  
Consulate, where I am now, and all things considered I have been treated  
very well.  
In answer to your questions about the whereabouts and operational orders  
my Sergeant might or might not have – No Comment. “

Colonel Saunders turned over the last page of the document, folded it  
neatly before putting it in its envelope, and then he deposited it into the  
safe.  
Joan took this as a cue to open her own letter.  
To be continued:

Notes:  
Thank you for reading, had to extend it to 4 chapters


End file.
